Valoran in Flames
by Ulfcloak
Summary: Noxus reels in the wake of its failed invasion, and infighting among the nobility is tearing it apart at the seams. Across the sea, Ionia is in complete disarray. The elders have been debased, revolution stirs in the hearts of the people, and powerful factions emerge from the shadows, seeking to rebuild the nation as they see fit. War comes to Valoran once again. Sequel to SWMA.


Cassiopeia had always found Noxus to be a very strange place. The land was largely fruitless, and the weather anything but inviting. No matter where one went within its borders, it was too hot, too cold, too wet, or too dry. What's more, the toll of a nation fueled by war left its mark everywhere. There was hardly a soul in the empire that hadn't lost someone dear to them to the unending hunger of their sires. Despite all this, she found it to be beautiful. Not in a conventional sense, but rather in admiration of the fact that such strength could be fostered in the face of such hardship. The very essence of Noxus was strength in the face of adversity, and it went all the way back to their founding. Divided, the people of the land were weak, downtrodden and subjugated. However, unity, _Noxus_ , made them strong. Together, the ancient tribes overthrew their oppressors and created the greatest nation in the world. This new empire, built on strength, took in people from all backgrounds and gave them the opportunity to become great. For better or for worse, no one had to live in the shadow of another if they had the strength to prove themselves.

As someone who was expected to carry the mantle of a noble house, she had already begun honing strength of her own. She may have not have the same aptitude for combat as her sister, but any true Noxian knew that strength was not limited to martial prowess. Just as her father was a fearsome fighter and commander, her mother was a diplomat of unparalleled political acumen. Perhaps it was in a bid to differentiate herself from her rising star of a sister, or perhaps it was simply her calling, but she had chosen to follow in the footsteps of her mother.

In pursuit of this goal, she shadowed the Du Couteau matriarch to an extent that would make most others sick. Cassiopeia knew the meaning and purpose of every visit her mother had and every document that passed through her fingers. She had made leaps and bounds in her efforts over the last year, coming to thoroughly understand how many of the Noxian lords operate, learning their values, strengths, and most importantly, weaknesses. As useful as this knowledge was, her newest lesson was the one she had been looking forward to the most: foreign relations.

Her first experience in the field was in accompanying her mother on her diplomatic mission to the newly acquired Shuriman cities to the south. The trip had been an enlightening experience, but as much as she would have wanted to stay for the entire thing, her limited constitution wouldn't let her endure the desert heat. Much to her dismay, she was sent home early after collapsing in a bazaar and nearly scaring her mother to death.

And so she was back. Oh how she had missed this. The Shuriman cities were rich with life and culture, but they were nothing compared to the empire. The near deafening roar of Noxus Prime at its busiest hour, the endless diversity of people bustling throughout the city, and the mere sensation of a paved road beneath her feet, all of it made her sure that she was well and truly home.

How ironic it was that the heart of Noxus itself was the most dangerous leg of her journey back to her manor. Most in the Shuriman territories or distant reaches of the empire did not know her face, nor did they have any reason to. Because of the safety of anonymity, she was able to make it to the gates of Noxus Prime with nothing more than the company of one of her mother's most trusted bodyguards. Now she required an entire outfit of hired swords to serve as guards to make it through the city confidently.

Her mother's bodyguard, called Reynard, was quite familiar to Cassiopeia. She had known of him for years, often seeing him accompanying her mother as she departed or returned to their home. In recent time, however, her proximity to her mother made Cassiopeia his de facto ward by extension. Reynard was one of the most skilled and longest serving of her father's protégés, hence his station at the side of the Lady Du Couteau. Though, distinguished as his service to her house may have been, the man was a killer, and had no purpose outside of that fact. It was for that reason Cassiopeia trusted him, and it was for that reason that she kept no illusions of friendship between them.

"Reynard," the noble called, her eyes fixed on the overcast sky. "Would you say it's the afternoon or evening?"

"Evening most likely," the gruff man answered. "Why do you ask?"

"Your mercenaries were supposed to meet us here at the gates before sunset, weren't they?" she questioned. "If you're so sure it's that late, then perhaps we should get our money back later and go on our own? I want to be home before the cooks retire for the day."

The veteran agent's face was usually unreadable, but even she could see he was growing frustrated with their situation. Before he could speak though, a group of five armed men approached them. One, whom Cassiopeia assumed to be the leader, called out to the pair. "Terribly sorry for the wait," he began, "but our boss asked us to bring along some young blood and he took a while to get ready. The lad just recently joined the company and we figured a nice stroll through the city would help get his feet wet."

"We can only afford the four I asked for," Reynard said. "Send your boy home."

"Oh, his services are free of charge," the mercenary leader responded. "Not to say that they're worth much to begin with. You have to understand, we'd prefer fresh meat get seasoned as quickly as possible. None of us want a greenhorn watching our backs when the real jobs start coming in."

The Du Couteau agent stood silent, skeptically considering the offer.

"Reynard, surely you aren't going to turn down a free blade?" Cassiopeia asked. "Your task is to get me home safely. Don't you think sending the man home would be… counterintuitive?"

The man sighed, slowly accepting defeat. "The boy can come, but if he gets in my way, I'll kill him myself."

Cassiopeia could tell that Reynard still had his misgivings over the situation. In the end though, years of service to her house seemed to have taught him to respect the wishes of his betters, a trait she deeply appreciated. "Well then," she called, "shall we begin?"

The lady and her caravan soon began their march through the city, wary eyes fixed on their surroundings. There were easily thousands of people that she and her entourage would have to make their way through to reach Du Couteau manor, and any one of them could have orders to end her life. Most would say she was taking a risk by making her return at this hour, and they would be right, but just what kind of message would it send to her father's enemies if she had instead scurried through the city under the cover of night, tail between her legs? This was much more than a risk. This was a statement; a message to all who were keen enough to listen that house Du Couteau feared none, and would sooner place themselves at the tip of their enemies' blades than show weakness. Besides, should any of them be bold enough to strike at her in broad daylight, she had… insurance policies.

She couldn't see them, but she knew they were there. Shrouded amidst a sea of gawking children, curious adults, and the general public at large hid any number of her father's students. The people her father trained came in all forms and from all walks of life. No matter the crowd, her father had someone that could fit in, and on the streets of Noxus Prime, one could find anything and everything. Anyone from the beggars ready to give up on life to the nobles that couldn't be bothered to check on the commotion could be an agent of her house. If an assailant somehow got through, her guard detail would give her enough time to escape an attack with her life. Add one of House Du Couteau's finest in Reynard, and she dared to say there wasn't a more secure woman in all of Noxus Prime.

The Noxian lady scanned the sea of faces in the crowd, seeing if she could identify any potential undercover agents. Of course, she didn't expect to be able to make out anyone for certain, as her father was not so terrible a teacher, but it was a fun game to distract her from the walk she had ahead of her. She scanned the crowd more intensely, and to her surprise, she couldn't find anyone. None of them seemed out of place to her. At the very least, she expected to recognize a single face from the training sessions the general held at their manor. Perhaps Marcus had sent a more elite detail she was not familiar with? Or perhaps he had sent no one at all? Just the consideration that she was on her own for this little spectacle of hers made her confidence all but disappear.

Cassiopeia did her best to pick herself up, assuring herself that her accompaniment would be enough to handle whatever was thrown at her, but it wasn't nearly enough to snuff out the concern building up within her. Reynard was a fine fighter, but anyone could be overwhelmed by numbers, and her mercenaries were not invincible; hell, she _knew_ people who kill all of them and then some. Still, she wore a strong face as her detail led her through the marketplace. If anything, the common public's image of her should remain intact. However, even that small amount of resolve crumbled as a splash of crimson crossed her field of view.

Time stopped as her mind scrambled to get a grasp of the situation. She knew, she _knew_ what it meant, but despite her desperation to move, she was frozen in place. Luckily, the screams of the masses snapped her back to reality, and she frantically took in her surroundings. The chaos and confusion of a frenzied and terrified mass of people prevented her from obtaining a clear view of who or what had died, and her ignorance was eating her alive. Only two of her guards and Reynard were still standing, the rest likely having fallen to whatever force was assaulting them. The young woman festered, unsure of what to do with herself. She had no training and no weapon; she was powerless. Her fate rested largely in the hands of men she hadn't even known for an hour. Her only anchor was the presence of Reynard, but just as the thought crossed her mind, the agent darted away from the group, pursuing a hooded figure moving deftly through the dispersing crowd.

"We have to move!"

Cassiopeia turned to the familiar voice, seeing the mercenary leader beckoning to her with his arm outstretched. She rushed toward the man with no hesitation, desperate to have any agency in this life or death scenario. She took the man's hand and was immediately rushed out of the main street and into the narrower alleys of the city.

She couldn't tell how far she had run in her adrenaline-induced craze, but she knew it was farthest she ever had. As her high faded away, her senses finally returned to her. Her lungs were tight and burning as if she had inhaled poison, and her feet could no longer support her. Acquiescing to her body's demands, she halted and took a seat against an alley wall, the leader and remaining guard stopping to attend to her.

"I can't believe he just took off like that," the unknown guard said, exasperation evident in his voice. Cassiopeia quickly recognized the face of the recruit they had brought on at the beginning of their walk.

"What, still alive, Meat?" the leader asked in disbelief. "Let's hope your luck keeps up, we've still got quite a walk ahead of us."

"We're going to continue?" Cassiopeia managed between labored breaths.

"We have no choice; staying here won't accomplish anything," the mercenary leader said. "Can you make it?"

Cassiopeia shook her head. "I need a moment to rest."

"Very well," the leader responded. "Make it quick, it's best we stay on the mo-"

The man's words were interrupted with the sheen of steel and the most horrid gargling Cassiopeia had ever heard. A small blade had somehow found its way into his throat, leaving him panicked and choking on his own blood. She looked to the recruit for reassurance, but his eyes were fixated on something else entirely. Cassiopeia followed the recruit's gaze and saw a hooded figure standing some ways down the alley. She couldn't tell for certain, but she was almost positive it was the same figure Reynard had pursued in the main road.

The hooded man slowly approached, readying his weapon: a massive, blood-soaked blade that was mounted on his forearm. The recruit raised his sword in response, his stance steady and his face surprisingly calm for one so supposedly inexperienced.

The two met blades at speeds Cassiopeia had thought impossible for anyone but her father and sister. All of their strokes were deliberate and precise, either meant to be a killing blow, or to defend against one. She did not know who this recruit was, but he was far too competent with a blade to be the novice he was said to be, a discrepancy she could not have been more thankful for. However, as impressive as the young mercenary was, the fight soon turned in the favor of the hooded man, who sent the recruit flying back to Cassiopeia's feet with a devastating kick.

Their eyes met briefly as he picked himself back up, and she could see desperation in his expression. In his mind, the fight was already lost. For whatever reason, the recruit was convinced that he could not best the assassin, and was scrambling for a way out of the situation. Cassiopeia watched intently as her last guardian finished rising to his feet, fixated on the blade that carried her fate on its edge. What came next was the last thing she expected; it came for _her_ head.

In a moment of pure instinct, the noble avoided all but the tip of the reckless swing with what limited movement was available to her in her sitting position, throwing herself to the ground. Before the recruit could make another attempt, the hooded man threw him to the floor and thrust his blade into the man's chest, sealing his fate.

Cassiopeia didn't know when she had started crying, but she could tell that tears had been streaming down her face for some time now. She didn't know such hopelessness existed. Every option had been exhausted, and everyone she thought she could rely on had been killed. There was now nothing between her and her gruesome fate. In what were sure to be her last moments, her mind drifted to her family and the warm moments they shared together.

What would they say if they saw her like this? How disappointed would they be if they saw her resigned to a fate she hadn't chosen for herself? She owed it to them to fight. On the pride of her house, she had to struggle to her last breath.

As pitiful as it was, the best Cassiopeia could do was to use the last of her strength to drag herself away from her assailant. Of course, it took only moments before he stepped into her path. She looked up at him, and found the face under the hood to belong to a mere boy, not a day over seventeen.

The revelation enraged her. All of that pride she had carried her entire life had been a joke. She didn't expect much out of herself at only eighteen, but it seemed that too was foolish. To think that someone even younger than her had the power and ability to take every single bastion of hope from her and crush them all… what meaning did any of her efforts in life have if she was still so weak?

What a regrettable end this would be. Of all the things this world had to offer, the last smell she would be offered was that of blood and dirty back alleys, her last emotions fear and anger, and her last sight that of someone who delegitimized everything about her.

At least she got to see her killer's face; that was an opportunity many were never afforded. He moved closer toward her, and she prepared herself for death.

But death never came.

The terrified woman felt a rough, masculine hand tightly wrap itself around her wrist, accompanied by a calm, deep voice.

"Are you hurt?"

The question took Cassiopeia fully off-guard. Was he not here to kill her?

Long moments of silence passed as she struggled to accept the reality that she was going to live for at least a short while longer.

"Are you hurt?" he asked again, his voice far more urgent.

She was not hurt, save for a small cut on her cheek, but she was insulted by the nerve of the question. Who murders a lady's entire guard detail, pens her into filth ridden alleys and then asks her if she's okay? Cassiopeia shook her head, reminding herself of the situation she was in. She couldn't afford to antagonize him. It was best to just answer his question and keep a cool head.

"I'm fine," she begrudgingly replied, sitting back up.

A look of relief watched over the young man, much to her surprise. "I made it in time, then." The man paused, crouching down to her level and examining the cut on her cheek. "It's not deep. Wash it when we get back and it should heal just fine."

Cassiopeia unconsciously let her mouth hang agape as the reality of the situation finally dawned on her. His skill with a blade, his familiarity with Noxian backstreets… This man _was_ her help. _He_ was one of the people assigned to her protection by her father. Nothing else could explain these things. She could hold her tongue no longer, confusion and curiosity practically spilling out of her.

"I'm sorry, you're one of my father's agents, right?" she asked. The man nodded in response, his bewildered expression communicating that he wasn't sure why she even had to ask. "What's going on?"

"There was an assassin among your mercenaries that I had been tracking for some time," the boy said, motioning to the mercenary recruit's body. "That last boy there, though I'm sure you noticed. The mercenaries you hired must have made it known that they were to guard a high value target. Our friend must have been the highest bidder."

"People do that?"

"Sell escorts? Of course they do. Not very often, but I've seen it a few times." the agent said, returning to his feet. "There's a lot of money to be made selling lives like that."

Cassiopeia couldn't believe it. She knew Reynard was skeptical, but she shut him down. Her naiveté would have been the last nail in her own coffin.

"And Reynard?" she pressed.

"Dead. I killed him."

"You lie."

The hooded boy laughed to himself. "I'm here, he's not. Do the math."

"Are you mad?" she questioned. "He was a good man! One of the best my father had!"

"He got in my way," the boy interrupted. "Think, if he had stopped me, that assassin would have killed you and been long gone by now. Reynard failed, and he paid with his life. That's all there is to it."

Cassiopeia couldn't fathom what extreme circumstances could have bred such a callous and deadly individual at such a young age. His efficiency with the blade, his knowledge of the city, his unshakeable mindset, he possessed these to a far greater extent than what his years should allow. Who knows what crimes he had committed as a child, and later in the name of whatever despicable assassin's guild was willing to take him? All of it under the pretense that it was his only choice, that it was noble.

Some would say she should be grateful to him, but how could she be grateful to such trash?

All of her life had been spent aiming to rise above the filth of the empire and distinguish herself as a noble. She was meant to exemplify dignity, honor, and self-sufficiency. She was supposed to be the best Noxus had to offer without having to turn to the brutish, disgraceful underbelly of the empire.

In him she saw everything she hated about the empire wrapped up a single person. He had no regard for authority or standing, not hesitating to kill his own superiors. He flourished in the corruption that was rotting their great empire from within. He was a lowborn with the audacity to reach above his station and catch the eye of her father. He excelled in everything she abhorred, and on top of it all, he was better than her. In a space where he could exert his will on the world as he saw fit, she could do nothing but wait for her own execution. She was no better than livestock here, and it infuriated her. This boy, no matter how skilled he was, was not someone she would ever be able to accept.

"We shouldn't waste anymore time; we don't know if there are others." Without giving the noble a chance to protest, he had pulled her off by her wrist, leading her through the maze-like alleys of Noxus Prime with unrivaled efficiency. To be led along like a stray animal… If it had gotten much worse, she would be inclined to reconsider whether it was truly worth getting through the day alive.

The rest of the trip to her manor passed like a blur for her, humiliation and rage all but completely overcoming her ability to commit the event to memory. Before she knew it, the door of the servants' entrance had closed behind her, her rescuer returning to the city that had just tried to devour her whole as if it were nothing. The young woman stood still for a time, silently staring at the closed door as her nerves settled and her mind raced.

How? How could he go back so easily? There was nothing in the world you could offer her to reach for that door handle, absolutely nothing. She could barely even move as it was, the last thing on her mind was going back out there. She was worthless. This empire she claimed to love had no room for little girls with delusions of grandeur. How could she expect herself to take on the mantle of her house when she couldn't bear to step outside and face the empire it loomed over?

She didn't deserve the overwhelming concern the servants showed her when they finally realized she was there. She didn't deserve the bath they drew for her, the dress they gave her, or the respect they paid to her as a noble.

Cassiopeia nearly vomited when she was returned to a room larger than some people's homes, cleaner than most commoners had been in years. She collapsed onto her bed and laid motionless, time a long foreign concept to her.

She spent hours completely undisturbed, alone with her shame and guilt. It was nearly impossible to sift through and manage all of the emotions she was wrestling with, and for a time, she was content with wallowing in self pity. However, all of that changed when the she saw her father's figure in the doorway.

She didn't know how long he had been there; she didn't even hear him open the door. Just considering how long he could have been watching her feel sorry for herself was enough to make her wish for death. He entered the room, and pulled up a chair near her bed. Cassiopeia gathered herself and matched him, sitting upright on the end of her bed and forcing a smile.

"Hello, Father," she greeted.

The man didn't say a word, but he didn't need to. The disapproval his in his eyes told her more than any words could. Surely he had received a report on what had happened by now. He was not a man for sympathy; he had shown as much with Katarina. His checking on her was not to console her. No, it was likely a test, a test she had undoubtedly failed. If she had managed to hold herself together after that ordeal, maybe he would still consider her as being worth his effort. What he saw must have been far below his expectations for her.

Why then was he still here? Why did he sit here, intent on suffocating her with his presence? Another test… it had to be. He was giving her one last chance to earn the name Du Couteau. How could she possibly regain that right? She didn't know what he wanted to hear, and even if she guessed, he would see through her lies like glass. She could only speak her own truths, and hope it was enough.

"This can never happen again," she said, addressing no one in particular. "I won't allow it." There was no excuse for this failure, or her lack ability to cope with it. This was weakness, and the weak had no place in this world. She owed it to her house to give nothing but her best at all times, but most importantly, she owed it to herself.

"It can't," came Marcus's reply. She didn't know if she was making progress, but at least he agreed with her.

"I need to become stronger. I _will_." Power, in whatever form it came, was what determined one's agency in the world. She may never become a competent fighter, but like her mother, she could shape the world in other ways. While she may always need the protection of people like her father and sister when push comes to shove, if she played her cards right, she may never see such a day again.

"You do." Again, he agreed, his face lightening considerably. "Is there anything else?"

Cassiopeia had said all she needed to, but there was one last thing she was curious about. "That boy that killed Reynard, what's his name?"

"He doesn't have one," Marcus said, "but the assassins' guilds call him 'Talon' after that ridiculous arm blade he has."

"He's a good agent," she observed.

"So it would seem. Why the curiosity? Have you taken an interest in him?"

"Yes, I suppose I have." Nothing could be further from the truth. She just needed a name to put to the face of the man that broke her world into pieces. He had saved her from her own foolishness, revealed her pathetic state so that she might overcome it, and would likely serve her house diligently for years to come. Yet, he was a constant reminder of her greatest failure, both to her house and to herself. He was a stain on her history that she would never be able to wash away, and for that, she could never forgive him.


End file.
